"Rigoletto"

Our dynamic New Zealander handyman, Arden, descended upon us early this morning, to dismantle a built-in cupboard. In the clearing out process, I came across some programmes dating back to the year I started living in London. I had a new love in my life then, opera, and the above evidences my first visit to see Verdi's Rigoletto. That was its 357th performance at the Royal Opera House, with Edward Downes at the helm of Zeffirelli's sumptuous production. American baritone, Cornell MacNeil sang the jester, with the lovely Reri Grist as his daughter. Though I can't give any critical analysis of that performance, the opera is one I have come to cherish through a number of subsequent listenings. I have a 1960 version on CD, with Bastianini, Scotto - and Alfredo Kraus: the only time I saw him was as the Duke at Covent Garden in February 1974: I remember standing at the back of the Stalls Circle for what was a sensational individual performance. Notwithstanding this warm memory, I have to rate as my top choice the 1956 Tullio Serafin recording, which I also have, with Gobbi, Callas and di Stefano.

Naturally, therefore, I was eager to catch the relay from the Opera House of its 497th performance tonight, sitting in the comfort of Cheltenham Cineworld. Nor I was I disappointed although, dynamically, John Eliot Gardiner's rendition nowhere approaches Serafin's, save possibly in the great quartet. This was - as ever for me - the highlight. David McVicar's production leaves little to the imagination. (Do we need full frontal male nudity? And how anyway do you carry out a rape without an erection?) Dimitri Platanias looks terrific in the name part, acts and sings superbly: his only disadvantage is being encumbered with a pair of distracting Lekis - and not being Tito Gobbi. Ekaterina Siurina's Gilda was likewise a great joy to hear; and Christine Rice's portrayal of the Act III mezzo role was as outstanding as we've come to expect from her.

Pura sicco me un angelo

I've been Listening Again to the Royal Opera House's La Traviata, broadcast on New Year's Eve (when I missed it). No performance by this particular cast seems to have been reviewed, but it does contain at least one outstanding interpretation, that of Ailyn Pérez in the title rôle. Nothing can quite erase the impression Ileana Cotrubas or Montserrat Caballé made on this impressionable listener in the Gods at Covent Garden decades ago; but Pérez sang with an intensity which I've not heard for a long time. Her vocal acting reminded me of Callas, which is saying a lot.

The words in the heading were not of course sung in reference to Violetta; and probably shouldn't be applied either to our granddaughter, who has been staying with us for a nice while; but she did look rather adorable, feeding the ducks by The Park's lake yesterday, in her "new" (eBay) coat. She's been enjoying Darcey Bussell's take on Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, Debbie Reynolds and Cyd Charisse, sitting on my knee.

[I've since read of Hugh Canning's enthusiasm for Pérez's Violetta.]

Susurrus

En route home from East Anglia, we paused in Oxford in order to go to the Botanic Gardens. I'm ashamed to admit it was my first ever visit. Nor even this time was I there principally to see the Gardens themselves, but because they were the venue for "Susurrus".

This is one of the Oxford Playhouse's "Plays Out", put on to encourage audiences to think differently about theatrical work and where it's performed. At the entrance, you pick up headphones, a miniature iPod-type device and a map. At each of eight different points, you are invited to sit down and listen to a passage on the tape, with appropriate music as you walk round in between.

Susurrus - meaning a soft murmuring or rustling sound - is perhaps not the most appropriate title for a play being performed quite so close to the Oxford traffic. Though the content itself is dark, the musical reference points (Britten's Dream, Janet Baker, and Maria Callas's last UK concerts) and the beautiful setting of the Gardens made it, for me, both a nostalgic and an enlivening experience.

For Caroline, it was rather less so, but both were glad we had made the effort to set aside an hour to go. Susurrus is on till 27th, I see from the theatre's website: if you are anywhere near between now and then, I recommend it.

I certainly hadn't appreciated how extensive and impressive the Botanic Gardens were, nor how close to the Cherwell: next week, with the new term starting, people will doubtless be in these punts if the weather holds.